It's Not Easy Being Green
by Deadwoodpecker
Summary: A post-Hogwarts, slightly AU, Harry and Ginny story.
1. Prologue

All through his sixth year, Harry thought it was a crush. The irrational jealousy toward Dean Thomas, the little fantasies he had about her during the day, and the not-so-innocent way she cropped up in his dreams at night. But she was Ron's little sister. And, beyond that, that was the year he'd learned about the Horcruxes. And she didn't break up with Dean until the end of the year; before Harry could work up the courage to ask her out, Dumbledore died, and the world crashed down around their ears.

During the seemingly endless Horcrux hunt, she was – well, she represented why the endless camping and the fruitless searching was worth it. It embarrassed Harry a little when he actually thought about it. The idea of her finding out that he watched her on the Marauder's Map, and that he'd felt a physical pull toward the Burrow when they'd visited Luna's dad.

His feeble reasoning fell apart the day after the final battle, when he had a chance to process his feelings without a haze of exhaustion. It was as though he watched himself, and everything was in stark relief. He'd seen her on his way to die; he'd wanted to stop, but he'd known that he might not have had the strength to continue. His last thought had been of her. And at the end, when Bellatrix's curse had almost hit her, had Molly Weasley not shoved him aside, Harry would have dueled Bellatrix instead of going after Voldemort.

He was in love with her.

For the first few months, he didn't tell her because Fred's death had torn a huge hole in all of them. It seemed inappropriate to mention it. And how the hell was he supposed to anyway? He was afraid that once he mentioned that he wanted to take her to Diagon Alley for ice cream – all by themselves, a real date – he would tell her how he stalked her dot and how the image of her face had filled his last moments.

But Harry wasn't a total coward (he had his Order of Merlin, First Class, to prove it,_damn it_). In early December he decided that he would tell her over Christmas. This surge of bravery had come from the fact that she'd written him several times during her first term. He'd replied to her first note, but it was like he'd been writing with Dolores Umbridge's blood quill, and he hadn't written her back after that.

He just wanted to tell her he loved her to her face.

Waiting in the kitchen with the rest of the Weasleys had set his nerves on edge. She came in through the floo, already smiling, lugging her trunk. Harry stepped forward and grabbed it, and their eyes had met, and Harry's mouth had dropped open. He was just about to ask her if he could speak to her privately, but then she did it.

_It._

She reached out her hand and patted him three times on the arm. The action that would, in the years to come, set his teeth on edge. Every time she did it, it just seemed like she was throwing it in his face that they were just friends. _We're just friends._ Pat. Pat. Pat.

Even then, Harry might have rallied, but he never got a moment alone with her. And then he heard through George's half-hearted teasing that she was dating someone. His obviously unrealistic fantasy of being with her for Christmas imploded behind his eyes.

Ginny dated _a lot._ He mostly developed a fatalistic attitude about it. She had every right not to feel for him the way he felt for her. And it made it a little better that she wasn't serious about any of the blokes. He heard from Hermione that she went to Hogsmeade with a Ravenclaw boy, and then attended the Slytherin versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match with someone else.

_At least no one knows,_ Harry thought, the day of her graduation from Hogwarts. While Mrs. Weasley wept proudly ("My first child since Percy to graduate from school!"), Harry did his best to remain completely casual. Being in love with someone when they didn't feel the same way was one thing. Having everyone around, giving him pitying looks, was quite another.

Harry turned nineteen. And then he turned twenty. And he was almost twenty-one years old when things began to shift between him and Ginny, almost imperceptibly.

**Author's Note:**

_This is quite a departure from my usual work, so be warned. I think that this year I've been (unintentionally) exploring a bunch of different genres of story-writing. It's fun. :D _


	2. Footloose

Harry stared down at his wine glass while he leaned up against the pillar, taking a bit of a break from watching all the wedding guests dance. His dress robes felt uncomfortably tight and he struggled with the collar. It did not help, and he swore under his breath.

"Surly as ever?" _Her_ voice, warm and amused.

He glanced over at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining, and her bright red hair was coming out of its complicated style. "Surly?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, surly," she said, moving one hand to her hip. "You're the best man; you're supposed to be making sure Ron is embarrassed as much as possible." Tapping her chin and affecting a thoughtful expression Harry didn't believe for a second, she added, "Although embarrassing Ron means embarrassing Hermione, and it's my duty as maid of honor to make sure that doesn't happen."

"So we're friendly enemies, eh?" he asked. "Rivaling duties?"

"Exactly," she replied.

Harry recognized the shift in her expression, and he exerted massive effort to hide his grimace from her. A pale, soft hand reached out—

_Pat. Pat. Pat._

_We're just friends._

Harry did not know whether it was the wine he had drunk, or the sparkle in her eyes, but the words came out without him being able to stop it. "Let's dance," he said. And then, when she looked surprised, "Do you want to dance?"

"Sure," she said, taking his wine glass and setting it on a table that held an almost obscenely large flower arrangement.

Harry led her out on the dance floor easily enough. They found a hole in the crowd, and Harry was able to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, and put one hand at her waist, and held the other in his hand. _This is the closest I've ever really been to her!_ he thought, exultant.

His euphoria was short-lived. As much as he wanted to relax and move with her, his feet had other ideas. Instead of stunning her with his dancing skills (even Harry had to admit this might be hard to do since he could count on exactly two fingers how many times he'd danced in his life), he stepped on her foot. Instead of swaying, they tripped.

After a particularly painful moment (Ginny had almost just collided with a balding Muggle – one of Hermione's relatives), Harry heard a familiar snicker. He turned to glare balefully at Ron, who was managing not only to dance with some semblance of grace, but also hadn't appeared to do physical damage to the woman he loved.

"Ow!" he said, when the high heel of Ginny's shoe came down on his big toe.

"_Sorry!_" she whispered, sounding mortified.

Ron continued to laugh. Even Hermione chuckled. Harry made a rude hand gesture at them.

"Remember I've still got to make my toast," Harry said warningly. He'd planned on a nice toast that only teased them a little, but if they continued to laugh, he was going to have to change his mind. "Don't force me to tell them about that drunken conversation at the Witch's Brew, _Ron._"

Ron's gaze flickered from Ginny, to Hermione, and back to Harry's, and he grimaced in surrender. "All right," he said finally, but he pointed a finger in warning. "Just don't knock over any of the guests."

"Give it a rest, Ron!" Ginny ordered, wincing when Harry stumbled over her feet.

Ron thankfully twirled Hermione in the opposite direction. Harry watched them go, wishing he was as comfortable with Ginny as Ron was with Hermione. He wanted to hold her close, but he was just too aware of the warmth of her body and the feel of her hand in his. That flowery scent wafted up, and Harry breathed in deeply, just as he went one way and she went the other.

"I'm usually not clumsy," she told him, sounding frustrated. "I can fly. Generally, I can walk without banging into things—"

"I know," he assured her, deciding to try a small circle. It would have worked had she not had the idea to go in a line. "I think it's me. I've seen you on a broom, you know—"

"Not for a long time," she chuckled nervously.

_Not for a long time?_ Harry stopped attempting to dance, but swayed side to side. "Is a week a long time?" he asked.

"A week?" her eyes widened. "But – when have you gone to my games? I thought – not since Hogwarts?"

Harry had gone to every single one of the ninety-seven matches she'd played as part of the Holyhead Harpies. _She didn't even notice me!_ "Oh," he said, mind reeling. He couldn't tell her that he'd been to every match, could he? That would make him sound like a stalker – which he sort of was, but he didn't want her to _know_ that. "I was there last week. Puddlemere United, right? I thought you were going to make Oliver Wood cry…"

Her brows came together in confusion, and she stopped moving. "Why didn't you stay after?" she asked. "You could've let me know you were there."

"Well…" he said, not knowing how to respond. "You were probably pretty busy, right? Post-match euphoria, and all that."

Her eyes searched his, and then understanding dawned on her face. Simultaneously, Harry's heart leapt and his stomach dropped.

"You don't need to worry about the press," she said knowingly. It took Harry several seconds to figure out what she was saying. "We've got people who keep them away unless we want them there – no one would've intruded on your privacy," she continued.

"Oh, right," he said, pleased that she came to her own conclusion. "Though what about the other Harpies? Wouldn't they tear me apart and eat me for being a bloke?"

She laughed, and he grinned back at her stupidly. "They wouldn't hurt _you,_" she promised. "You're Harry Potter! They would only nibble at you a bit."

_I want you to nibble at me,_ he thought glumly. "Listen, I—"

"Next time, if you ever get a chance to come again, let me know," she told him, pulling away, but not before delivering another _We're just friends_ pat-pat-pat. The wizard band had taken a break, and everyone else was filing off the dance floor. She smiled at him as she backed away. "I'm going to go practice my toast; Hermione would kill me if it wasn't memorized."

"I'll let you know," he promised, but didn't think she could hear him. After another few seconds of standing there like a fool, he went in search of his wine. He swore under his breath when he realized how long he'd left it; he hadn't even bothered to put a shield around his glass to keep it safe.

Mouth a thin line, he headed back to the bar.

The next morning, Harry had a slight hangover, which made George's constant nattering on extremely annoying. Most of the younger Weasleys (including Percy) lounged in the living room in their pajamas watching Ron and Hermione open their gifts. The wrapping paper flew, and so did George's inappropriate comments.

"Ron does just fine, George," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"Don't make me curse you," Ron threatened. Harry could tell that Ron wasn't entirely joking. It was one thing to be teased for never having slept with anyone else at a stag party, and quite another to be teased the morning after a wedding night.

"But really, how well could you know your way around a—"

"What's wrong with not sleeping with someone unless you're in love with them?" Harry blurted out, watching Ron's ears turn bright red. _The things I do for friendship._ At least Ginny hadn't made it downstairs yet.

It was Percy who spoke first. "There's nothing wrong with that," he said pompously. "It just isn't very usual. Wizards have—"

"The urge to shag," George interrupted. "And I sure as hell haven't waited to fall in love. Not all of us are like Ron, who fell in love his first year at Hogwarts." Bitterness flashed over his face, but receded so quickly that Harry wasn't entirely sure it had actually been there.

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," said Percy. "But surely you, as a single man, know that it's impossible to wait if witches are willing."

"What does this have to do with Ron?" Harry asked, not liking where this conversation was going at all. "He was in love—"

"Ron's old and married, now," George said, grinning slyly. Harry very much did not like the glint in his eyes. "So you think that sex should happen when two people are in love?"

"Yes," Harry said irritably.

_Where is Mrs. Weasley when I need her?_ He glared at Ron, who looked very uncomfortable, yet unwilling to say anything to George.

"I really don't think—" Hermione began.

"So either you're a virgin, or you – Ginny!"

_Of course,_ he thought. There had only been one other time when he'd been less happy to see her. She flopped down next to him, still bleary-eyed, and gave him the pat-pat-pat on his leg. He was definitely on the path to deep embarrassment.

"George," he groaned.

"What are we talking about?" Ginny yawned at the same time. "And why aren't those two out shagging somewhere?"

"We're not talking about _anything,_" Harry said, his voice much louder than he intended.

"Harry's love life," George said smugly. "Or lack thereof. Really, Harry, as the bloke who defeated Voldemort, you really need to—"

"Shut the hell up, George!" Ron said, to Harry's vast relief.

"Watch your mouth, young man," Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room, levitating a plate piled high with breakfast food of every kind. Harry wasn't particularly hungry, but if there was one way to distract a Weasley – even George – it was put food in front of them.


	3. Love Potions

It was only two days after Ron and Hermione left for their honeymoon that Harry saw Ginny again, under extremely fortuitous circumstances.

George's head appeared in the fire in Harry's office just as he was about to leave for the day. "Hey, George," Harry said, surprised. It wasn't often that George used this sort of method to get ahold of him. He generally just showed up at Harry's house. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing really," George said in an overly casual voice. "I just need you to come by the store."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Not that I won't but"--his brow furrowed--"as an Auror?"

"I have your _list_ for you," George said portentously.

Harry knew immediately what George was talking about. Every month, George gave him a list of all the witches (and wizards) who had purchased love potions. Silly, yes. But after several incidents with love potions (one of which had been a_very_ near miss), Harry viewed this as necessary for survival. The last thing that he wanted was to falsely fall in love with some scheming witch (or wizard, which would be even worse). But as important as Harry saw this, George generally sent him an owl with the list.

"Something wrong with Pooky?" Harry asked, inquiring after George's owl.

"He's on another delivery," George said promptly.

Harry opened his mouth to question why George could not simply leave the shop and walk down two doors to the Owl Post, but decided against it. George had never once questioned Harry's paranoia. And despite the fact that he often asked Harry uncomfortable questions, Harry owed him. _Maybe he's just lonely,_ Harry thought. "All right," he said. "Give me five minutes to finish this, and I'll be right there."

"Thanks," George said cheerfully.

Harry signed the documents that Kingsley had sent over using the quill Hermione had bought him for his last birthday. It was good to be an Auror, despite the paperwork. And sometimes the paperwork was even a relief after being in the field. His work was gratifying, but it was nice to rest and let others round up petty crooks every once in a while. His task complete, Harry got up and put on his heavy cloak -- January was particularly cold this year -- and stepped into the hearth.

"Weasleys Wizard Wheezes!" Harry said firmly. The flames roared green and he spun away from his modest office in the Ministry of Magic and toward George's shop. He stepped out of the fire to an empty room. _Odd._ Hadn't George just been talking to him from here? It was past time for the shop to be closed. _Maybe he's stocking the shelves,_ thought Harry.

He walked over to the door, but his hand stilled on the knob when he heard a loud voice.

"Ginny!" George said.

Harry's stomach swooped. _She's here?_

"Fancy seeing you here," George continued. "What brings my favorite little sister -- don't tell Ron -- to my humble shop?"

"Don't be a fool," Ginny said, sounding annoyed. "I told you you didn't need to do that."

Harry ruffled his hair, feeling slightly guilty for eavesdropping and, wanting to see her, opened the door. "Hey," he said, trying to seem casual. Every since he'd danced with her, his feelings had escalated, and he'd had a hard time concentrating on anything else. He'd even come to the decision that even if she totally rejected him, he was going to have to tell her. If only for his own sanity. Ginny was mature. She'd be able to deal with his feelings without letting it get awkward between them. They'd still be friends...

A hand clapped on his shoulder. "Long day, mate?" George said. He sounded far more sympathetic than usual. Harry realized that he must have been staring. Hopefully he hadn't been staring at Ginny.

"Yeah," Harry said. "We're busy with a few cases. And not having Ron there means more work. Not that I'm complaining," he added hastily. "But it seems like the dark wizards come out in winter."

"Summer seems too warm for evil," Ginny said.

"I suppose," Harry said, looking over at her. He hesitated for one second and then stepped forward and hugged her. "Hey, Ginny."

He even managed to ignore the pat-pat-pat.

"Hey, Harry," she said. "What brings you here?"

"I've -- er -- well--"

George took pity on him and flicked his wrist. "Here you go," he said. A roll of parchment floated into Harry's hands. "Harry gets a list of the ladies -- and blokes -- who buy love potions," George explained.

"What? Why?" Ginny said blankly.

Harry flushed. "It's just that every once in a while, someone tries to... make me fall in love with them," he shrugged, trying to pretend like it wasn't actually a big deal. "It's -- you know. A lot of -- erm -- celebrities have to watch out for that."

Ginny gaped at him. "You're joking, aren't you?" she asked. But before Harry could reply, she continued, "You're not joking. I can't believe that! Those slimy... _scarlet women_--"

"And men," George added helpfully.

"--evil bitches," Ginny sputtered indignantly. "Haven't you earned a right to privacy? I can't believe it. How _dare_ they try to use you like that!"

A warm feeling spread through his belly at her words, though Harry didn't exactly know why. It was highly likely that she was responding to it as a friend would... her anger didn't mean that she had feelings for him. But it was gratifying to see the indignation on her face, flushing her cheeks, and making her eyes sparkle.

Harry was suddenly happy that strange women wanted him to fall in love with them.

"Do you want to go get some ice cream?" he blurted out.


	4. Ice Cream and Broomsticks

Harry immediately felt like a complete moron. It was the middle of January. It was freezing outside, and the first thing he thought of was _ice cream_?! Several seconds ticked by, and he realized he had to laugh it off. "Probably not the best time of year for it, eh?" he said as casually as he could. Harry was both surprised and grateful that George didn't immediately laugh and try to take the mickey out of him. "It's just really hot in the office all the time--"

"Dad complains about that all the time," Ginny said. To Harry's relief, she seemed to be less enraged than before, though high spots of color remained in her cheeks. "Ice cream actually sounds good, though..."

"It does," George said enthusiastically.

Harry barely managed to contain the urge to send him a look of deep skepticism. _Think, Harry, think!_ "It's just that... you know, the press would be less likely to stalk me at an ice cream parlor," he said. _Excellent. Blame the press._ Harry smiled widely. "You know how they are," Harry added cheerfully. _Evil, stalking, convenient bastards._

"It's too bad I can't go," George said, sounding regretful. "I have too much to do here... inventories and things."

Ten minutes later, Harry was opening the door to the nearly deserted ice cream parlor, and almost unable to believe his luck. A half an hour ago he'd been sitting at his desk at the Ministry, prepared to go home and prepare a meal for one before laying on his couch and relaxing. But now he was actually out. With Ginny.

Alone.

"I'll just have hot butterbeer," Harry told the waitress, grateful that he didn't actually have to order ice cream.

"Me too," Ginny said quickly.

After the waitress left, an awkward little silence fell. Harry didn't know quite what to say to her now that they were alone. Did she even consider it a date? Was Harry stupid for thinking it was? He'd asked her out for ice cream, and she'd accepted, but was there some sort of time requirement? Was it only a date if... say, twenty four hours had gone by between the invitation and the event itself?

"How is work?" Ginny spoke up.

Harry could kiss her for interrupting his maddening, stupid thoughts. "Work is... fine," Harry said honestly. "It's challenging, sometimes. And boring all the other times."

"You know," she said thoughtfully. "I really can't imagine you being anything other than an Auror. You've just always been so determined to protect people, and keep them from getting hurt."

"I really like that aspect of it," Harry told her, settling back in the booth, feeling suddenly relaxed. But that didn't stop him from glancing around, making sure that no one was listening. The last thing he wanted was his private thoughts splashed across the front page of the _Daily Prophet._ "I think it's because I -- well, my parents, obviously. And Sirius. But... also you in the Chamber. Your dad getting attacked at the Ministry, Ron getting poisoned. I just--"

"Don't want that to happen to other people?" Ginny finished for him, smiling.

"Exactly. And if it does happen, I want to be the one to send the arse to Azkaban," Harry said, relieved that she'd found the point to his garbled speech. The waitress chose that moment to place their drinks in front of them. He sipped at it carefully; it was hot enough to burn his mouth if he wasn't careful. _Hopefully, I'll have reason to not want a burned mouth--_

Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter, Harry scolded himself. But he couldn't help but steal a glance at her lips. He'd always had a particular fondness for them; they were quite lovely and full, and he'd spent many a time thinking about what it would feel like to kiss them, taste them, or have them wrapped around his--

"How do you like your work?" Harry asked, desperate to keep his mind firmly where it should be -- at a brightly lit ice cream parlor -- rather than where it tended to go while he was in the shower, or just about to fall asleep. "What's it like to be a Quidditch star?"

"Hardly a Quidditch star," Ginny said dryly. "And it seems pretty frivolous next to being an Auror--"

"It isn't," Harry said firmly. Her eyes widened at the interruption. "It isn't frivolous at all," he added. "I'm your former Quidditch captain, and I'm slightly disturbed that you think Quidditch isn't important."

She grinned at that, but it was fleeting. She shrugged a shoulder, and hooked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Harry watched her hands move; Ginny was graceful all the time (he didn't count the time they tried to dance together; that had probably been his fault), not just in the air. "It's just that everyone else got a job at the Ministry of Magic, after the war," she said quietly. "No one said anything about it, but I think everyone thought that I'd join the Aurors, or somewhere else that needed to be rebuilt. I feel a little frivolous for choosing Quidditch."

Harry imagined her as an Auror. It was very easy to see her slipping into the role of protector, and risking her life to help others. He'd seen her do it during the war, numerous times. "I don't think you're frivolous," he said, tracing the lip of his drink. "This is just me, but... Quidditch was the one normal thing I had. And after everything -- Voldemort, the war, people we love dying -- normal is anything but frivolous. I really--"

"Harry! Ginny!"

Harry hadn't seen or noticed Neville Longbottom until he was right on top of them, and he had never been less happy to see him. The stocky, blond man beamed widely at both of them, obviously unaware that he'd interrupted their date.

"Hey, Neville," Ginny said.

Harry thought she sounded less than enthusiastic, but that could just be in his head. "Hi," he said, trying to keep the resentment out of his voice. He liked Neville, he really did. And that made it even worse, because he couldn't just tell Neville to shove off.

"You two will like this," Neville said, holding up a long box. "I just bought my own broom."

Ginny looked at Harry, her lips twitching, and he could tell that she was thinking exactly what he was. Harry struggled not to laugh.

"It's all right," Neville said warmly. "Go ahead and laugh... Merlin knows I'm hopeless on a broom, but I've got to learn. I'm going to South America in a few months, and I'll be canvassing the area, looking for magical flora." Neville continued to prattle on, but Harry barely paid attention to him, but alternated looking at his drink, and looking at Ginny.

"What kind did you get?" Ginny asked, jerking Harry's attention back to Neville.

"Just a Cleansweep," Neville said. "It's nice and slow..."

"You should've gotten the new Firebolt," Harry said, thinking of the broom he'd purchased after the war. It had been an indulgence, but it was worth it.

"I don't think I could've managed a Firebolt," Neville said.

Harry thought privately that perhaps Neville was right, but did not want his crankiness at the interrupted date to hurt Neville's feelings. "Did you know that you don't even have to polish them?" Harry asked, to keep himself from saying something mean. "I've had mine since right after the war, and I've never had to open my Broomstick Polishing Kit once. I'll bet Cleansweeps don't have that feature..."

"I'll bet they--"

But whatever Neville had been about to say was interrupted by Ginny getting out of the booth, and tugging on her cloak. "I'm sorry," she said, smiling at both of them. Harry stared at her, open-mouthed. _Is she actually leaving?_ "But I've just realized -- I have to -- Gwenog has a meeting," she said. "I'll see you two later."

She was gone so quickly that Harry barely had time to even process it. And he wasn't sure that he believed her excuse, but why would she have left so suddenly? He racked his brains, trying to figure out if he'd said anything or done anything to offend her. But he came up empty. _And she didn't do pat-pat-pat,_ Harry thought.

Ginny _always_ did pat-pat-pat whenever she said goodbye to him. And even though the we're-just-friends pat-pat-pat usually drove him mental, the absence of it felt even worse.


	5. Heads in the Fire

Harry had been almost relieved when a patronus from the Head of the Auror Department arrived, interrupting Neville's long, involved speech about the magical flora of Peru. The other two patrons of the ice cream parlor and the waitress had looked stunned when the silvery animal coalesced into the shape of a hawk and ordered him to the Ministry.

"Sorry, Neville," Harry said flippantly, still somewhat resentful that _something_ had driven Ginny away. "Gotta get to this."

"It's all right," Neville said easily, causing Harry to feel somewhat guilty at his uncharitable thoughts. "I'll see you before I leave..."

"Make sure you do that," Harry said, and turned on the spot.

That marked the very beginning of a long, hard nine days spent on a case that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. A witch and her young niece had been touched by a dark wizard. They'd survived -- barely -- but were in St. Mungo's, and the recovery process would be slow.

He had precious little time to obsess over Ginny, though he knew that once the perpetrator had been caught, he'd turn back to wondering why she'd left so suddenly... and why she hadn't done her pat-pat-pat ritual. The one bright spot in those long days, however, had been the arrival of Ginny to his office, bringing a treacle tart. He'd wanted to stop and talk to her, but could do nothing more than thank her for it, pretending to himself that she'd been the one to make it for him, even though it had probably been Molly.

Grimmauld Place was dark and cold by the time he returned to it, and all Harry wanted was something to eat, maybe something warm to drink, and then to crawl into his comfortable bed. The sofa in his office was lumpy, and it never got dark enough to get a good night's sleep. Harry stumbled around the basement kitchen, half-heartedly making a sandwich, and wishing that Kreacher was still alive, just to have someone to talk to.

Harry sat down and stared at his meal. It looked unappetizing, and he had the selfish wish that Molly would make him another treacle tart... and send Ginny along with it. _I wouldn't even mind the pat-pat-pat,_ he promised himself. After their disastrous attempt at a date, Harry wanted to talk to her, and maybe try to figure out what went wrong. _If it even was a date,_ Harry thought sourly.

"Harry?"

Ron's voice was so unexpected that Harry leapt from the table, drew his wand, and pointed it at where his best mate's head appeared in the fire in the hearth. "Ron," he said, slowly lowering his wand. "Sorry. It's been one of those weeks."

"I can tell," Ron said, sounding amused. "Want me to come through?"

Harry sort of did -- he'd like the company -- but Hermione and Ron were newly married and--

"Wait," he said slowly. "Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?"

"We got back two days ago," Ron said, in a voice that made Harry feel about three years old. "We sent you an owl."

"I must not have gotten it," said Harry.

"You replied to it," Ron grinned at him. "That busy at work, eh?"

"It was the Tinsworth case," Harry told him. "I'm sure you read about it in the papers. We caught the wizard who did it this afternoon," he said. Harry didn't want to mention that he'd been the one to figure the case out and bring in the bloke who decided that a few galleons were worth the life of a witch and a little girl. It was too much like bragging.

"That's great," said Ron. His head tilted slightly as he appeared to listen to something behind him, something Harry couldn't hear. "Hermione wants me to ask you if you were sleeping at the office again."

Harry shrugged.

"You don't have to do that, you know," said Ron. "You send people _to_ Azkaban. You aren't actually in it."

Ron obviously didn't understand that sleeping in his own bed wasn't that much better than sleeping at the Ministry. Sometimes it was easier, even with all the interruptions and the lumpy sofa and the lack of adequate darkness. Harry could ignore the fact that he was living and sleeping alone in a huge house that he had because his godfather died. "It doesn't matter," Harry said finally.

Ron looked skeptical.

This annoyed Harry. "It's not like I have anyone to come home to," he said before he could stop himself.

"I didn't know that bothered you," said Ron, raising his eyebrows.

Harry grabbed his bottle of butterbeer and took a quick swig. He had a nasty feeling that Ron was going to push him until Harry admitted that he was lonely. But he couldn't possibly tell Ron that the reason why he was lonely was because he was so bloody hung up on Ron's sister that he just didn't even notice other witches.

"--and the one time you take a witch out since Cho Chang, it's Ginny."

Ron's comment ruthlessly cut into Harry's thoughts.

"You know about that?" asked Harry, trying to sound casual, as if it didn't mean anything. Which it obviously _hadn't_ because Ginny had left so suddenly. She probably hadn't even considered it anywhere near a date.

"Well..." Ron hedged. "Ginny told Hermione. But even before that... it was in the _Daily Prophet_-- don't freak out--"

"What the hell?!" Harry said loudly, almost shouting. It had been in the _Daily Prophet_? How had he missed that? He felt an almost immediate, burning anger in his gut. He'd thought in his younger years that the press couldn't be more intrusive than they already were. But after he defeated Voldemort, it had escalated to the point that the press had been rummaging through the bins at the Burrow, looking for anything they could sensationalize into a story.

It drove him mental.

"It was just a small mention," Ron attempted to sound soothing. It didn't help.

"Right," said Harry. He could just imagine the headline.

"Just said that you were desperately in love with my sister, and planning to ask her to marry you," Ron told him.

Harry's mind reeled, and he had the sudden urge to run down to the _Daily Prophet_ offices and rip apart whoever had written that. He'd been falsely paired up with enough witches to know that whatever they'd had to say about Ginny hadn't been exactly complimentary. And it just made it worse that all he'd wanted to do was take her out to ice cream and talk to her (and eventually tell her he was desperately in love with her and, someday, ask her to marry him) without the bloody press getting involved.

"It wasn't like that," Harry said forcefully.

"I didn't think it was," said Ron, a strange tone in his voice. "Listen, you're obviously in a state. I'll see you on Sunday."

And his head disappeared, leaving Harry alone with his indignation.


	6. Magic at the Burrow

Harry appeared with a small pop outside the wards of the Burrow, looking up at the crooked little building, feeling apprehension biting into his belly. It wasn't so much that he was nervous about seeing the Weasleys, but... Ginny's good name had been dragged into the mud by some vicious bitch at _Witch Weekly_, and he didn't know how everyone was going to react to this.

He almost wished that he could go back to the normal feeling of just being nervous and excited whenever he arrived, in hopes of seeing Ginny.

_I've gone around the bend,_ he thought glumly.

It had been several days since he'd spoken to Ron in the floo, and he'd come to several conclusions in the days since then: one, the offices of _Witch Weekly_ really ought to be burned to the ground; two, he really needed to at least tell Ginny how he felt, for the sake of his own sanity; and three, he had to somehow combine his first two conclusions in such a way that Ginny would ignore all the crap that came with dating Harry Potter, and just... somehow love him the way he loved her.

"Just do it," Harry muttered.

"Just do what, mate?"

Ron had apparently sprung from the earth (Harry had not even caught a glimpse of his arrival) carrying a stunned gnome, a pair of pliers, and a witch's hat. "Merlin!" Harry said loudly. "Give a bloke a warning before you pop up unexpectedly like Moaning Bloody Myrtle," he added accusingly.

"You mean like when I waved at you and said hello?" Ron grinned, dropping the things he carried, and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. The expression on his face told Harry that he could expect the mickey torn out of him for at least seven minutes -- possibly even twelve.

"Sorry," Harry said. "What are those for?" he asked, pointing at the pliers, gnome, and hat, hoping that this would deter Ron from teasing him.

To his surprise, Ron's ears turned bright red. "I don't think you want to know that," he said seriously.

Harry gaped from his friend, to the bizarre collection, and back again. _Maybe I really don't want to know._ "All right," he said finally. "Does Hermione know about this?"

"Yeah, she's out in the shed," Ron told him. "Aren't you a little early?"

"Erm," said Harry. "I was"--hoping to see Ginny--"hoping to talk to your parents."

"Why?" Ron asked keenly.

"Well... you know, about the article in the _Prophet_," Harry said. "You know that it wasn't--"

"You already made that clear, Harry," said Ron, shaking his head. "And if you think you've got to apologize, or whatever... don't. Mum and Dad know that it isn't your fault that you've got a pack of bloodsucking leeches after you."

"But--"

"Don't even bother," Ron said cheerfully, scratching at the back of his neck and glancing over at the small, ramshackle shed with a gleam in his eyes that made Harry want to go blind. "No one is mad -- we all know that you can't even go out to ice cream with a friend without being hunted down like a vampire."

Harry deflated. For a few moments, he'd been tempted to tell Ron everything -- Merlin only knew what had possessed that impulse -- but it had faded. "I know it's an imposition--"

This time, his words were cut off by an abrupt smack to his head. "Just let it go," Ron advised.

Rubbing at the sore spot, Harry grimaced. "Fine," he said. He'd already turned to the back door to the Burrow, and Ron was edging away, ready to do things that Harry didn't want to know about. "Is anyone else home?" he asked.

"Just Mum and Ginny," Ron said over his shoulder. "I'll see you in -- well--"

"Take your time," said Harry, shaking his head. His nerves had diminished somewhat, although the prospect of seeing Ginny made his stomach churn -- although this was a highly pleasant sensation. Feeling slightly awkward, he knocked on the door, despite the fact that he had never knocked on the door at the Burrow in his life.

"Who is it?" Mrs. Weasley called out.

"Er -- it's me, Harry," Harry said uncomfortably. He heard someone giggle; it sounded like Ginny.

The door was flung open, and Mrs. Weasley stood in front of him, lips twitching. "Is there a reason why you're knocking?"

"He probably stopped to talk to Ron," Ginny said from behind her mother. She sat at the kitchen table, smiling at him. Harry smiled back gratefully. "He and Hermione have been--"

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley said, sounding slightly scandalized and more than a little amused. "They're newly married--"

"Which is why I've found myself with the urge to knock on doors a lot more often," Ginny grinned, winking at Harry.

_Why is she winking at me?_ Harry asked himself. She'd never done that before... winking was flirtatious, wasn't it? He wanted to wink back, but he'd unfortunately never mastered that particular trick, and usually ended up blinking both eyes rather robustly. "Hi, Ginny," he said instead.

"Hi, Harry," she replied, uncoiling from the chair.

Had Mrs. Weasley not been in the room, Harry might not have been able to control himself from letting his jaw drop. Ginny was wearing... something different. It wasn't that far from what she usually wore (and Harry thought she always looked lovely), but her Muggle jeans showed her firm legs, and her top was just tight enough to make his mouth water--

"I'm sorry about the article," he blurted out, because he had to say something. But the article seemed like a distant thing, with her hair curling around her shoulders, and practically begging him to run his fingers through it.

"It's all right," Ginny said easily, stepping forward, and giving him a hug. _Pat-pat-pat._ His stomach swooped, even as he inwardly groaned.

_You promised that you would stop hating that,_ Harry told himself firmly.

"Those parasites are inexcusable," Mrs. Weasley said darkly. "The way they nose into your life... Arthur had to stop me from marching down there and giving their editor a piece of my mind... but that's neither here nor there," she said abruptly, making Harry's head spin. "I need to... go clean the rest of the house before everyone gets here," she said. "Ginny, you can keep Harry occupied, can't you, dear?"

Ginny rolled her eyes at this, and Harry's attention was caught once more... her lips seemed to stand out at him, all of a sudden, as though begging him to kiss them. It was hard to focus his thoughts... even breathing seemed like a chore... all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"Harry?" Ginny said quietly.

He liked how her lips looked when they formed his name. "Yes?" he said.

"We have a big match coming up on Saturday," she told him.

"Against the Wimbourne Wasps, right?" Harry asked distractedly. _Water. I need a glass of water._ He summoned a glass from the open cupboard and filled it at the sink, willing his body to relax. There was no use acting like a complete moron.

"Yeah, how did you -- never mind," she said quickly. "It's... well, everyone is coming. And..."

Harry looked over at her. For some inexplicable reason, she was blushing.

"Will you?" she asked. "Come watch, I mean."

"Do you want me to?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"Well... yes," she said, fiddling with the hem of her floaty shirt. "But only if you want to."

"Of course. I love"--_you_--"Quidditch."

"Good," she said, smiling at him again. Without even thinking, Harry took a step closer, so close that a hint of the flowery scent he associated with her reached his nose, and he could see strands of golden highlights in her red hair.

All the worries about the article, and the maybe date that she left so abruptly, and his own insecurities seemed to slip away, right out the open window of the Burrow. _I could kiss her,_ he thought. He was almost close enough to bend his head and--

The door flew open with enough force that it banged against the wall and bounced back. George swaggered through, followed closely by Percy. Both of them were laughing immoderately and did not even notice that Harry and Ginny were in the room for several moments. A good thing, because part of Harry wanted to hex them both into quivering masses of jelly.

The moment was lost. Ginny had moved away from him, and was rummaging through the cupboards. _That tension couldn't have just been coming from me,_ Harry thought resolutely. She had to have known that he'd been about to kiss her, although when he next saw her face, her expression was unreadable.

_I'll tell her how I feel after her Quidditch match,_ Harry promised himself. _It'll be perfect._


	7. Out of His Head

Instead of the Quidditch match between the Holyhead Harpies and the Wimbourne Wasps being the perfect day Harry had imagined, he landed in the hospital.

_Ouch._

Harry came to awareness slowly. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton, his head throbbed viciously with his every heartbeat, and he thought that if he moved his head even an inch, he would vomit. It was almost like a hangover, but worse, and he could tell from the rough sheets and the strange lighting that he wasn't at home in bed, but at St. Mungo's.

Before he even attempted to open his eyes, he tried to piece together what happened. The Quidditch match. Sitting in the top box with the Weasleys, instead of hiding in a different seat, pretending like he was just another bloke, watching a match. The Beater from Puddlemere United targeting Ginny, finally knocking her off her broom when she was a hundred feet in the air--

"Ginny," he said through dry, cracked lips.

Someone thrust a straw in his mouth and he swallowed gratefully.

"She's fine, thanks to you," Ron said, his voice raspy.

Relief suffused his limbs, making him realize that he'd unconsciously tightened all of his muscles. He blinked his eyes open, wincing at the light. Squinting, he tried to make the room come into focus, but all he could see was a blob of red (Ron's hair), and bushy brown (Hermione's).

They were the only two in the room.

_Ginny isn't here._

He shouldn't have expected her to be. And he told himself that over and over again, but with every passing moment, he grew more and more indignant. He'd jumped out of the top box, trying to protect her from a fall from that height, and she couldn't even be here when he woke up?

"The _Prophet_ is having a field day," said Hermione. "They, of course, think it was a sign that you're in love with Ginny -- they've been trying to get in all day, and Arthur and Bill keep having to keep them away from her--"

"She's here?" Harry asked, pressing his hands over his eyes. She was actually in St. Mungo's and she wasn't waiting for him to wake up? _Stop. It isn't fair of you to expect her to be here--_

"We've all been here," said Hermione. "You almost died--"

"I don't care," Harry said shortly. He pushed off the blankets, not realizing until it was too late that he was completely naked underneath them. "What the hell?" he asked, momentarily distracted, pulling the blanket around his waist and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Why am I naked?"

"Er," said Ron. "Don't know for sure."

"You have a female Healer," Hermione said. It sounded as though she'd moved away, but Harry's head had begun to spin, and he'd had to shut his eyes to keep from sinking into blackness again. _And isn't that just great,_ Harry thought angrily.

He might have churned himself up to a fury at the idea that a witch had peeked at his bits while he'd been unable to stop her, but he had more pressing things on his mind. Namely Ginny, who appeared to be the only witch in Britain who didn't want to look at his bits. He stood and stumbled over to the wall, letting his head clear.

"Where in Merlin's name are you going, you nutter?" Ron asked.

Harry didn't waste time on a reply, but shuffled as quickly as he could toward the door, through it, and out into the corridor. No one was about, which was just as well. "Where's the waiting room?"

"Ginny's fine, Harry," Hermione said, sounding all too reasonable.

"I'm not," Harry said darkly.

With his two best friends muttering mutinously behind him, Harry walked toward the waiting room, keeping the blanket wrapped firmly around him. _I have no idea what I'm doing,_ he thought. But his body kept moving forward; his eyesight was becoming sharper, but his head was just as muddled.

He squinted against the glare of the lights. The sane part of him (which was being much too quiet) half-heartedly protested what he was doing. But the rest of him -- the parts that had spent years in love with one woman -- was too strongly focused.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked uncertainly. "You're really not supposed to be up yet. You have a head wound, and you're on a potion--"

"That's turning him into an insane man," Ron finished unhelpfully.

Harry ignored them, and swung the door to the waiting room open. It was filled with people, most of them redheads, but he recognized a few of the press as well. But they didn't matter. His gaze focused on a single redhead. He only saw her profile, but could tell that her face was swollen and blotchy. Dimly, he felt guilty that he was delighted to see that his accident had made her cry.

_You're being a moron,_ Harry told himself.

They still hadn't noticed him.

"And I already told you, you don't have to do that," Mrs. Weasley said exasperatedly. "All you have to do is _thank_ him for saving you--"

_Like hell,_ Harry thought.

He opened his mouth to speak--

"Mr. Potter!"

"We have a few questions--"

"It's good to see you awake and alive after that fall--"

The press converged around him, shouting questions and talking over each other. But Harry didn't listen to them. Ginny's head swung toward him, her mouth dropping open into a perfect O. He took the time to make absolutely certain she was all right. Other than the fact that she'd obviously been crying, she looked fine. _Thank God._

"You're all right," Harry said stupidly.

"Mr. Potter," said a middle-aged woman who Harry thought might work for _Witch Weekly._"Is it true that you saved Miss Weasley at the possible expense of your own life because you love her?"

"Yes," said Harry, shielding his gaze when a bright flash erupted in his face.

"_Oh,_" said Hermione, sounding shocked. She and Ron stood on either side of him, obviously ready to catch him if he fell over.

Harry groaned inwardly. _Of all the ways I could tell her I love her, and it isn't even to her face._ He looked over at Ginny again, but she wasn't even looking at him. Instead, she was glaring angrily at the reporter. His stomach dropped.

"Don't you dare twist his words," she said loudly. "If I see one more article that prints lies, I'll hex the lot of you," she added fiercely. While Harry would normally enjoy the sight of her defending him, she had it all wrong. But before he could interject, the room spun alarmingly, and he had to grip Ron's shoulder tightly to keep himself upright.

"_Everyone_ knows that Harry's always willing to sacrifice himself for his friends," Ginny said scathingly. "He took the bloody Avada Kedavra from Voldemort, didn't he? He did that--"

"Mostly for you," said Harry. He reached up, intending to ruffle his hair, and winced when his hand collided with the bandages wrapped around his rather tender head. It was suddenly so silent in the room that Harry could hear the portly man from the _Daily Prophet_ breathing through his mouth. _This was such a bad idea,_ he thought. All of the Weasleys were staring at him as though they'd never seen him before.

"You're in love with my sister?" Ron asked, sounding absolutely stunned.

"I _told_ you that you should've just grabbed him and snogged him," George said inexplicably.

"_George_!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Be quiet."

"Don't be -- he doesn't even notice me -- he's obviously just--"

Harry interrupted her. "Ginny," he said, voice sounding stronger than it had since he'd woken up. "I get that we're just friends. That's what the pat-pat-pat is about," he added, patting his own chest three times. "We're-just-friends." He did it again, this time to Ron, who looked distinctly uncomfortable and still quite stunned. "And that's fine," he lied. "But that doesn't change the fact that..."

His voice trailed away, and a few moments passed before what she'd actually said hit him. His eyebrows came together, along with a particularly painful throb in his head. "Not notice you?" he asked more harshly than he intended. But his head _hurt_ and he knew he was humiliating himself in front of the Weasleys and the press, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "I can't stop noticing you--"

"Since when?" Ginny asked incredulously. She'd stood up, and was now eyeing him warily.

"The beginning of sixth year," he admitted. "I thought it was just a crush, but I thought of you before I let Voldemort curse me, and I thought of you when I had a choice whether to come back or not." The words were spilling out of him now, and Harry grimly just let it happen. It couldn't get worse. "And I've thought of you ever since then. You could at least acknowledge it... I love your family and everything, but I adore you--"

"And you thought _I_ was thick?" Ron muttered to Hermione.

While Harry was glaring at Ron, Ginny stumbled forward almost into his arms. Harry strongly suspected that Mrs. Weasley had given her daughter a shove. He looked down at her, trying to read her expression. But her eyes were downcast, and her cheeks were scarlet.

"Put that poor boy out of his misery, Ginny," Mr. Weasley said implacably.

And she reached out--

"Don't," Harry said warningly, already guessing what she was about to do.

She did it anyway. Pat-pat-pat. "I-love-you," she said. _Pat-pat-pat._ Her voice trembled a little, but when she finally looked up at him, she was beaming. "Harry, I've been in love with you for ages..."

_Ages._

"Thank Merlin," Harry said earnestly. And, not caring that her entire family and the press (and therefore the entire Wizarding world) were looking on, he bent his head and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and returned the kiss with such enthusiasm that Harry's head spun for an entirely different, far more pleasant reason than a concussion. He heard the sound of cameras going off, and could see the flashes behind closed eyelids, but he ignored them.

They finally broke apart, and Harry rested his aching forehead against hers before tilting his head to whisper in her ear. "I have to go lay back down," he murmured. "And I'm only wearing a blanket... will you come with me?"

"Of course," she said. Her face was still split in a wide smile.

"And you'll stay?"

"Yes," she said. "I wanted to earlier, but I didn't know if you'd want me to..."

Harry threw caution to the wind. "I'll always want you there when I wake up," he told her, softly enough so that no one else could hear.

**The Hunt Continues: Ye made it this far, mateys, no turning back now! This story was a challenge between me and Andi. We both set out on the same course and ended up with stories that were too much fun. Who would have thought one little challenge would land us both deep in second year potions.**


End file.
